Wilting Rose
by mrs.stambaugh
Summary: As Rose is struggling with the virus, she reflects on her life with Linden.


_Based on __Wither__ the first book in Lauren DeStefano's The Chemical Garden Trilogy. This passage is told from Lady Rose's point of view. The original narration in __Wither__ is from Rhine's point of view. The characters and setting of __Wither__ are owned by Lauren DeStefano._

I stare out into the spring sun longing to be in the veranda. Hanging between the two open windows is a picture reminding me of time when I was happier. In the photo, I am standing next to my bay horse, Sadler. He had a distinctive running style, always galloping with his head at an unusually high angle. In and out of medicated consciousness, I think about our long rides past the orange groves. There were days when Linden and I would run barefoot through the groves, plucking ripe oranges to savor. The oranges of the first generation were sweet, fragrant, and full of seeds. The newer, genetically modified oranges are seedless and bred to survive the virus. As the smell of orange blossoms envelopes us, we ride until just before the sky is glowing at sunset. My sunsets are now limited to viewing from the bed. My health slipping from me as the virus destroys my body cell by cell. At twenty, I should still be healthy enough to ride but the blood in my lungs pulls at my breath as though I am drowning.

My replacements as House Governess arrived yesterday. The Collectors brought them. House Master Vaughn probably paid good money for the girl with the odd eyes - one blue eye and one brown- I can't help but to think it was that genetic imperfection that drew her to him. Obsessed with finding a cure for the virus, House Master Vaughn will do whatever it takes to have the best genes available for his off spring. She wandered into my room last night during one of my coughing fits. Said her name is Rhine. Beautiful girl. Looking at her is like looking into a mirror: same thick, wavy, blond hair, the pert chin, and soft nose. Linden is sure to fall in love with her.

His father, House Master Vaughn, is one of the area's leading genetics researchers. He has invested his life's work in saving his son from the virus. His hospital in the city is thriving. When the first signs of the virus began, I urged Linden to remarry. Having housewives already in the house would only ease his pain. Most House Governors have five sometimes seven wives. Not Linden. I was his exclusively. Our parents were good friends. Mine died in an accident when I was young. House Master Vaughn took me in, hiring tutors to educate me. As we grew older, so did the bond between Linden and I. I was sixteen when we married. The garden was full of guests and fresh flowers to witness our union. Now I think of how we strolled those grounds, talking about India and the lands that were. Now covered with water, India inspired me and I dreamed of what we would like riding elephants along the tropical jungle. The promise of a future filled with love stolen by this virus.

Now, as I lay weak and dying, I long for our walks in the garden or the summer parties out on the town. The nights that he lies awake, staring out into space, I wonder what he is telling himself. Does he worry that the virus will claim him too? Should we have had children? His father was against it, urging us to seek out an embryo genetically selected, free from abnormalities. Would the child have been free from the virus? Many laboratories failed to produce a generation virus-free. What will he do with this room? Will my things be boxed up and tucked away in a storage building? The house attendants would most likely sort through what they want and dispose of the rest. Gabriel was the only one I cared for. After the symptoms began to show, the others quit making eye contact, probably out of pity. Did I look that bad? My skin was ashen, my lips cracking and my nightgown is splattered with blood from my cough. I am mess. Don't blame them for not wanting to be near me.

I wasn't always so sick. Many nights we would host the local socialites, floor length dresses and all. With Linden, I could go anywhere. We often went to town to explore the art galleries. My favorites were the ones from the impressionists. Degas, Renoir, Morisot – all depicting elegant, far-away places. They were able to arrest and pinpoint a moment of time with the stroke of their brush.

Looking above at the magnolia wallpapered ceiling, I feel warm and at home here. I remember when House Master Vaughn remodeled this floor. Linden brought in designers and architects. He let me choose the particulars. The dark green plush carpet laid wall to wall to remind me of the lush grass of the gardens. The large windows allow me a place sit to and watch the sunsets – leaving wondering just how many I had left to see.


End file.
